


Still Beautiful

by fragile-teacup (Mrs_Gene_Hunt)



Series: The Spaces Between [9]
Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, First Time, Hand Jobs, Kissing, M/M, Swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-09
Updated: 2016-08-09
Packaged: 2018-08-07 19:12:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7726447
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mrs_Gene_Hunt/pseuds/fragile-teacup
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for the #ItsStillBeautiful challenge for @hannibalcreative on tumblr.</p><p>A 1000 word post-TWOTL fic. The first timestamp for The Marriage of Heaven and Hell, set during Chapter 2 of Volume 2. A retelling from Hannibal's perspective.</p><p>I'm <a href="http://fragile-teacup.tumblr.com/">fragile-teacup</a> on Tumblr. Drop by for a visit any time!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Still Beautiful

Will's bedroom door is usually closed when Hannibal passes it on the way to his own. Tonight it is ajar and Hannibal cannot resist glancing inside. What he sees stops him short.

Will sits motionless on the edge of the bed, shoulders slumped, a look of such dejection on his face that Hannibal walks straight in. It occurs to him, as Will blinks in confusion, that he has never done so before. Keeps walking anyway until they're toe-to-toe.

'Will.' Sterner than he means to sound but panic is rising. 'This has to stop.' 

His heart stills as Will leans in, rests his forehead against Hannibal's chest. 

'I could leave.'

Hands rigid at his sides, desperate to seize and claim, Hannibal closes his eyes. Forces calm.

'Where would you go?'

Even as the question falls from his lips, he knows he will never allow it. An ocean of walking away only leads them back to each other. They _are_ each other. 

'Anywhere. Nowhere.' Tight brittleness splinters Will's voice, tearing at Hannibal's defences. 'I don't know. But perhaps, for a while, to figure things out.'

'Don't leave.' Half command, half entreaty. Feels the appalling indignity of it, how changed he is - by Will, by _them_. Asks anyway.

'I don't _want_ to go.' Quietly emphatic. Will raises his head, gaze searching. 'But this - polite routine we've fallen into - is a lie. A facade of normalcy. Why are we still pretending?'

Frustration rises within Hannibal - an urge to rip through the tension that has stretched between them since leaving Baltimore. It lends a snap to his voice.

'When you imagined our life here, what did you foresee, Will? A bloody rampage across South America, raising holy hell?'

Will sets his jaw mutinously. 

'Would that have been so unlikely? I know you, Doctor. Atrophy, losing your sense of self - these are the things you fear the most.'

Instinct drives Hannibal further into Will's space, nudging his knees apart to stand between them. Tracks with satisfaction the flare of surprise in Will's eyes, the rush of colour to his cheeks. Takes his face between both hands and strokes a thumb across the smooth, neat line of the scar that is at last beginning to fade. Looks into eyes the colour of a storm-smudged sky and releases a cavernous sigh pent up for weeks.

'No, Will. The thing I fear most is losing you.'

Unexpected, the tears that well in Will's eyes, trembling on spiked lashes, suspended for wordless moments before falling soundless onto Hannibal's shirt front. He looks down, watches them spreading, dissolving, feels them searing his skin.

A baptism for his jaded soul.

Will grabs the lapels of Hannibal's tuxedo, tugs him closer. 

'Be honest.' A vicious whisper. 'This isn't what you wanted for us.' 

'No,' he says. 'It isn't.'

Absent-minded as he focuses on the plushness of Will's lower lip, remembering Baltimore. Remembering taste and texture and wanting _more_ each time they kissed. Always something holding them back.

Feels Will's slender frame vibrate with fearful shudders and slides a gentling hand to cradle the back of his head.

'Sometimes, Will, circumstance demands caution. To hunt with you - to witness again your willing surrender to the urges which for so long you suppressed - is my greatest desire.' 

'But?'

Hannibal bends, brushes his lips across Will's temple. 

'What would you say is our best option, given our current status at the top of Uncle Jack's Most Wanted list?' 

'To lie low.'

'Mm.'

Tilts Will's chin, lips millimetres apart. Feels the delicate fronds of Will's empathy unfurling, reaching tentatively towards him.

'For how long?'

But he cannot think clearly any more, with sultry eyes beneath long dark lashes conveying hunger and need and _now_.

'For as long as - for - Will,' he mutters unsteadily. 'Will.'

Crushes their lips together, hot and wet and urgent. And they're falling again, into the softness of a mattress, into each other. Hannibal breaks off, looks down into Will's slumberous eyes, kisses him again, achingly slow, deep, languorous. Tastes the sweetness of utter capitulation. Hesitates. Reaches between them to stroke Will's burgeoning erection.

Will moans, utterly delightful in his responsiveness, arching up into his hand.

'Oh fuck, oh yes. Touch me, Hannibal. Please.'

With a shaking hand, Hannibal unzips Will's pants and reaches inside his boxers, freeing Will's straining cock. 

So exquisite: cherry red, tumescent, glistening. 

_For me_.

Heart pounding, he rubs his thumb across the gleaming slit, glorying in the scent that rises and surrounds him in a sensuous cloud - musk and salt and Will. Will, who writhes beneath him, keening, flushed and lovely. Will, who gasps as Hannibal's fingers encircle his rigid shaft.

Smooth, marble-hard flesh pulsates beautifully beneath his palm, pearlescent moisture oozing from the tip. He hums in approval and gathers it up with his fingertips, slicking Will's cock and squeezing once before settling into a merciless rhythm. 

Devilishly intent on milking his beloved boy to breathless completion.

'Oh god, oh god.' Eyes shut tight, fists clenched, Will is lost in the shuddering build-up to orgasm.

Hannibal has never been more entranced. 

A few more firm strokes and viscous, milky fluid shoots between them, painting Hannibal's hand, spattering their immaculate suits.

A few moments of quivering silence, then Will's hand is reaching to rub Hannibal through his pants. Throbbing, urgent heat overwhelms him and he moans Will's name, hips pushing into his insistent touch. Will arches up to kiss him and all it takes is the hot slide of Will's tongue in his mouth and he's coming in violent, pulsing streams.

Both still fully dressed, both too overwhelmed to do anything but relieve the immediate ache of untold years.

'I thought you were getting bored with me,' Will mumbles, face buried in the crook of Hannibal's neck. 'Disappointed by unfulfilled promise.'

Hannibal lifts his head, grinning crookedly. 'The last thing I feel is unfulfilled.' Then, more seriously, stroking damp curls back from Will's forehead, 'This is not all I wanted for us, Will.'

Smiles tenderly. 

'But it's still beautiful.'


End file.
